


of curses and fog

by cassandra_leeds (The_Circadian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fuck Or Die, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Circadian/pseuds/cassandra_leeds
Summary: Dean and Cas get struck with a lust curse while they're on their own on a job.Takes place in Season 5, at some point after Episode 14.Posted originally on Livejournal.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	of curses and fog

  


He’s already taking off Cas’ clothes, pulling his trenchcoat down over shifting shoulders, when he notices that Cas is halfheartedly fighting away from him. Halfheartedly, because when Dean looks up he sees something not wholly angelic behind those eyes, something new. There is something to the way Castiel’s lips are parting and the way his breath hitches when Dean’s fists bunch his shirt to pull him close that Dean can tell isn’t just fear. It’s _need_. But it’s not what Cas needs anymore that’s on Dean’s mind when he moves him back, pushes him frantically against the wall, it’s what _he_ needs. It’s a pounding, aching, intoxicating demand over and over, brimming, calling him close to Cas, drawing him in.

It’s hurting now that Cas is trying harder to push him away and Dean tries not to think of what it is that _really_ hurts because when he’s honest with himself it hurts in another way, a way that has nothing to do with his body or this fucking curse. But he’s not going to think about that. He’s going to think about surviving, both of them surviving this, because right now he wants to be inside Castiel so bad he’s going to die if he isn’t soon and he knows that isn’t figurative. The risk of curses like this one came with the job description. It isn’t Dean’s first time under a lust curse and he knows it won’t be the last.

But the way Cas is breathing, the clawing grasp of his fingers on Dean’s coat, the terror in his eyes confirms any suspicions Dean had – Cas never saw this coming or at least never thought it would be like this - all need and no want, panic and arousal owning every bit of your person until it feels like every inch of you is screaming _touch, touch, TOUCH._ They’d lost this fight. They know this. And as Dean works at pushing Castiel down the wall to the filthy ground, the small part of Dean’s mind that has some capable thought left is telling him it could have been so much worse, that all he can do now is try and make this as easy for Cas as he can, and is battling the urge to just _take_.

Dean’s hand manages to push through the opening of Castiel’s shirt and he nearly shouts with how delicious it feels – hot skin on skin. “Off,” Dean growls, pulling then tearing the shirt open, fabric crying out and buttons ricocheting as they give and Dean is finally able to place his hands greedily over the taut flesh of Cas’ chest. Oh, it’s good – so excruciatingly good - like the first sip of water in days, like the smell of food after a fast, like the win of a kill.

Even as Cas grits out, “No,” Dean’s moving his hands to Cas’ ribs and holding tight, feeling the bones beneath, the rapid rise and fall as Castiel’s breathing quickens and Dean drinks in the sight of pale skin below him flushing pink while his fingers grasp and pull, leaving redder welts in their wake. Dean touches everywhere he can but there’s little reward in it and as soon as it’s there, it’s not enough. There’s just the need for more. _More_. He groans in frustration, bending slightly and holding himself through his jeans and Castiel takes this moment to push back, cracking the wall behind him with a small shower of concrete, trying momentarily to get space between them, just for an instant having enough power for that force and yet not using it against Dean, not wanting to hurt him. And Dean wants to weep, that’s so wrong.

“Dean…” Small breaths, small words whisper over his lips, shaken and torn. Cas sounds so scared and Dean’s never heard that in Castiel’s voice, even at the brothel, even when he was about to die, not like this. “No...” And Castiel’s still trying to push Dean off, but those muscles haven’t been used like Dean’s. All that power that had terrified Dean once is draining day by day.

Castiel’s lost now, overpowered by Dean and this curse and pressed flush against the wall of this dirty cell, in this rundown and abandoned prison with a demon problem they thought they could take on without Sam this time, give the kid a break for once. Detox had taken a lot out of Sam and Dean wasn’t going to push him, not now. So the demons are dead now, that was easy enough, but Dean hadn’t expected a witch was behind the summoning of them. Now she was dead too, but not without a parting gift. Why, Dean thinks wretchedly, why did he bring Cas along when he knew he was already weakened? By the time the demons were offed, Cas was down and Dean was distracted, covering them both, when he felt the curse hit like a shot of adrenaline to the heart, like a blast of heat through his veins, heard Cas gasping behind him as well. The shotgun was shaking in his already fevered fingers as he managed to aim and shoot the bitch down almost instantly before he was completely consumed by the spell working through his body, obscuring everything but the sense of Cas close by. Within moments the shotgun in his hands had fallen to the ground and his hands were full of Cas’ trenchcoat, dragging Cas, bewildered and speechless, to his feet and forcing him into the dark, his own body now seething, burning, his mind maddeningly barely his own. He should have come alone and left Sam and Cas both behind tonight. But at least he’s been dealt similar curses before. He knows how they work and he can handle it. He can sift through the curse and, for a few moments at a time, find reason, even if Cas can’t. And it’s Cas and he’s his friend. It could have been so much worse, Dean thinks again trying miserably to be grateful, when he hears a sound, feels it in his chest and realizes it’s him. It sounds feral.

Blue eyes bright with terror, wet, and as dark with arousal as Dean’s stare up at him and plead. Weak. This body is Jimmy’s and Dean’s able to pin it down under heavy muscle, able to push those shaking, grasping hands back and grind, grind, fucking grind against Castiel’s awkwardly raised leg in a way that is making Dean’s insides boil and Castiel make small scared and yet needy sounds. Jesus, an angel making sounds like that.

It’s wrong, so wrong to see him like this and Dean tells himself that the fact that he’s broken isn’t what’s doing it for him, it’s the curse. That the reason he wants this so bad has nothing to do with how powerful the creature below him is, or rather, used to be. That Castiel, Angel of the Lord, moaning like a whore and coming on his cock isn’t on his mind, isn’t the reason he’s reaching down and stroking himself through his jeans as he buries his face in Cas’ neck and breathes deep. “Fuck, you smell good.”

Cas makes another sound and this time it’s a whimper and Dean is thrown by how much that hurts even through the haze of this – Castiel is really scared. Terrified. And Dean finds himself kissing the side of Castiel’s head as he rubs against him. “Shh…” And Castiel shudders. “Cas, don’t. It’ll be okay. I’ll make it okay.”

“I can’t.” Castiel voice is nothing but a hissing, tremoring whisper, like he’s biting back tears, but he sucks in violently as Dean puts his hand to Cas’ groin, finds what he thought he would. “Dean. I _can’t._ ” Dean unzips Cas’ trousers, slipping through boxers and pressing his palm to Castiel cock - hard, ready, even though Cas’ obviously isn’t, and Cas shifts reflexively into Dean’s hand. Dean wonders at how good that feels too, the weight of Cas in his hand, the way his hand fits around Cas’ cock just so, the way his own dick is reacting so enthusiastically to touching Cas’ like Dean’s the one being touched. The thought of sucking Castiel off goes through his mind and it’s almost impossible to get himself back. It’s ridiculous how good that sounds right now, how much he wants to feel him fill his mouth, taste him. No. They just need to do this and do it right and fast and it will be over. Castiel seems to have been listening in on his thoughts or there is something else on his mind because when Dean looks up his eyes are open wide.

“I’ll make it good for you, Cas.” Dean smoothes Castiel’s hair back. “I will. I’ll make it feel so good.” But Cas won’t meet his eyes now. “Please, Cas… I don’t want to –” And Dean can’t help but bite back a moan because of the rush in his blood, the deep ache in his groin that briefly blinds. “Please, don’t make me force it.” Dean doesn’t say what they both know, that there is no other way out of this except death. This is going to happen, stalling it will just make it worse.

The name “Dean” turns into a wanton moan as Dean spreads gathering precome over the head of Cas’ cock, then turns to a stream of half recognizable objecting words: _no, no, stop, dean, no, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!_ And that’s when Dean forces Cas farther down the wall and himself forward, presses Castiel’s face into his shoulder and muffles the words, fists Cas’ cock with hard determined rhythm. Castiel trembles under him, moans into his jacket and then grips tight to Dean’s shoulders, no longer pushing back but clasping at Dean’s coat with desperate fingers and burying his nose into his shirt and Dean can feel Cas’ breath, hot and moist, gusting through cotton and nearly burning his chest as Cas’ hips start to rock with Dean’s strokes, as the fear starts to dissolve into something else entirely and the sounds he makes low in his throat turn to encouragement instead of protest.

“That’s it, Cas,” Dean whispers and it hurts to watch, but he can’t help it. Cas like this. Has he wanted to see this before? He can’t imagine ever not wanting to watch this, to feel him this close. And he needs to now, needs him now. Right now.

“Please,” Castiel begs and Dean can’t tell what that ‘please’ is for, but Dean pulls his hand away and puts his fingers into his mouth, coating them with saliva while Cas watches him move those fingers between his lips and deliriously pants, still thrusting, “I’m – Dean –” He lays back and something about it seems like drunken defeat but then he’s running those long fingers loosely over his own naked chest and stomach and sighing, shivering, and then writhing and clutching. Dean doesn’t know how long he’s been staring until Castiel makes a lost sound, completely lost, a shaking moan and he looks to Dean urgently, desperately. “Dean –”

“I know, Cas.” Dean says. “I know. It’ll be over soon.” And he’s using the voice he used to calm Sam with when he was a kid, when Sam would cry. “I promise,” Dean says and he might be imagining it, but he thinks he sees Castiel nod at the words. He licks his fingers again until they shine in the low light and reaches into Cas’ boxers sliding down and back until he’s right there, right there, and now Cas is just saying his name over and over. “Okay, Cas, just relax.” And Jesus, it’s Castiel’s first time, all of this, so he has to be gentle. It should have never been this way. “Cas, breathe.” And Castiel keens when he pushes in one finger, opens his mouth in a silent shout. “Breathe,” Dean repeats and carefully works deeper, slowly, until Cas is moving into it tentatively and Dean pushes Cas’ pants and boxers down with his free hand then wraps his grip tight and sure around Castiel’s cock, pumping slowly, and Cas’ body is a cascade of lean, light muscles, coiling and uncoiling, tensing as he thrusts and quivers beneath him. Dean adds another finger.

Castiel cries out and Dean shushes him again, but he’s still thrusting and Dean watches amazed as Castiel bites his lip and mutters low, “I… I need more.” Dean groans with the words, feeling his knees go weak even as he’s kneeling and he’s pushing a third finger in. “Yes,” Cas strains, and that little word is what does it, and, interrupting him as he says it again, Dean meets Castiel mouth in a kiss that shoves his head back, a kiss that feels right despite the curse. It’s true and sweet and it’s Cas. And Dean is shaking all over. This is it.

“I’ll give you more.” The words sound cheap as soon as they’re out of his mouth and whispered into Castiel’s hair, but still Dean pulls out his fingers and strips Castiel’s clothes off completely. He’s ravenous. He was able to hold off long enough to prepare Cas, but now the demand of the curse is adamant. They don’t have long. If they drag this out they won’t make it through. Weakness, hallucinations, seizure, then death. Dean’s never seen it go that far first hand, but Bobby’s told stories of the shit he’s seen, usually when he has a bottle of something strong in his right hand. They had an hour at most before a curse like this would get to the point where there was nothing to be done. So here they are, Dean trembling and soaked in sweat and Cas naked and shivering as Dean strips him. One way out. And, damn it, Cas doesn’t deserve this. Castiel covers himself briefly and then is curling up and it’s such a human gesture Dean can’t help but mutter, “I’m sorry,” as he moves himself over Castiel and groans. At this point it’s all he can do to not pin Cas down completely and just do this without another word, “I’m sorry.” But Castiel shakes his head, “No. Do it. Now.”

Dean spits into his hand and makes sure Cas is ready once more before he positions himself and Cas below him, stilling his hips with his hand. “It’s going to hurt, Cas, I’m sorry.” Dean looks up and then closes his eyes, feels himself trying to mentally pull away so he doesn’t have to remember this part, thinking of anything else, but Cas brings him back. “Dean, please,” he says with a soft mewl, “I can’t wait, I can’t. Please… Dean.” And Dean knows it’s the curse talking for Cas, but it doesn’t matter because, fuck, it sounds glorious.

Cas places his hands on either side of Dean’s head and holds. “I’m ready.” And Dean leads himself, pushes forwards, slow and shifting, relentless, until there is that crippling give and he’s inside. He’s inside Cas and Cas cries out, but it’s too good, too much, and Dean shifts and thrusts gradually deeper, and oh, god - “You’re so… oh…” And Castiel’s face is frozen in something like pain but more like astonishment. Dean’s pivoting hard into Cas now, hips jutting into Cas by their own accord. And it’s the best thing he’s ever felt and the worst. Castiel – his friend and savior. So many times Castiel has saved him in so many ways and here he is, watching himself raping him. It’s fucking rape for both of them and he moans in unison with Castiel reaching between them and stroking his leaking cock. “Tell me it’s good, Cas.” He needs the lie. He doesn’t know if he can live after this if he doesn’t have that.

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice is battered beneath him and he arches as Dean speeds up his thrusts with the stroke of his fist.

“Fuck, tell me you want it,” Dean pleads. “Please, you gotta.”

“I – it’s,” and Castiel shudders and hums a low needy groan, “It’s so…”

And Dean can feel with mental relief Castiel’s body tensing, recognizes Cas’ body starting its climb to completion, and, with it, life. And Dean’s so relieved he could cry. “Oh, Cas, that’s good.”

“It’s – Dean, it feels so good. You feel so good,” the words are uneven and frayed between Cas’ gasps. “Oh...”

Dean can feel Cas on the brink now and speeds up the stroke of his hand over Cas’ cock, slippery with sweat and precome. He’s feels the inevitable building in him too, shaking with every pivot, his muscles burning like they want to give in, his head spinning.

“Gonna make you come so hard.” It’s reflexive, a phrase he’s said to dozens, hundreds of girls, but when he looks down at Cas who’s looks fever dazed, in shock, holding onto Dean and messily putting his hand to Dean’s face like he’s all he has, all he’s ever wanted, clenching around his cock and bucking back into him with another small startled sound, Dean realizes that Cas _is_ about to come. For the first time in his life. And it’s with him.

“Come on, Cas, almost.” Dean slows but goes deep, holding back his own climax because he doesn’t want to risk passing out after this without knowing Cas is safe with him. Castiel tenses and his thrusts stutter slowing, Dean’s hand continues to work him but gentler, milking sensations out of him until Cas is trembling on the edge. “Come on, Cas. I’ve got you.” And Castiel tenses even harder, grabbing Dean’s arm and Dean can feel the mark underneath Castiel made himself there over a year ago, when he saved him first, when he was beyond saving, can feel the contact singing through his veins even with the barrier of his jacket blocking skin to skin contact, but he knows Castiel’s hand is right over it, fitting into it, claiming it, claiming that moment and every one since, claiming _them_ , and Dean is gone, peaking, orgasm starting deep and rushing through him, coating and draining every fiber of him in all consuming pleasure as he shouts because it just keeps going and going.

In the midst of it Dean opens his eyes in time to see Castiel’s face as he flings his head back so hard it cracks the cement on the floor and Cas makes a beautiful cry that echoes and builds as his body takes over completely, pivoting and clutching Dean for dear life as he breaks. Dean feels him exploding over his fingers as they both shudder, crashing down.

And just like that, it’s over.

Dean doesn’t remember how he got so far from Cas so fast, but he’s across the cell from him now, tucking himself in and buckling his belt, zipping up his jacket to cover the stain on it from Cas, while Castiel gathers up and slips back into his clothes piece by piece. The shirt is beyond repair. Dean looks over at the abandoned shotgun and it seems like ages ago, it feels like he’s been fighting for a month and his muscles protest as he gets out his flask and drinks hard and fast. He hopes to god Castiel has some healing angel mojo left because after what they just did, he’s going to be hurting for a while if he doesn’t. Goddammit. So stupid. So fucking stupid. Why hadn’t he just come alone?

Castiel seems saddened by the shirt but only briefly. “Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”

It’s said so casually Dean wants to shout. But his voice is low when he spits, “Yes, it damn well is my fault.” The shotgun feels ten times heavier than it did an hour before as he reaches down for it, and cold, a dead weight. “You should have never been here, Cas. I should have never brought you here. You’re no hunter.” He motions up and down Castiel and Cas follows the gesture and glances down at himself. “You’re an angel. And, as we can see, in no shape to battle anything as one. You’re –” and Dean bites his tongue, but then says it anyway. “You’re like anyone else now.” Castiel looks more hurt than Dean’s seen in a long time. As if Dean could feel any more regret. “Not like that.”

“No, I understand,” Castiel says with a tilted nod and Dean finds he’s already walked back across the span of the cell to be face to face with Castiel, placing his hand on his shoulder. But any words he meant to say fall short and he’s left with Castiel observing him in that soft way he does.

“You okay?” Dean manages finally.

Cas looks away and Dean thinks there is a sad smile there somewhere as he nods. “Yes, I’m fine, Dean.”

Dean rubs his shoulder and hopes it’s the truth.

“Are you alright?” Castiel’s voice is soft.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Dean huffs it out, shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here.”

The Impala is a cold machine when they slide into it. Dean pushes the tape out of the tape deck before “Kashmir” can put an icing of sarcasm on the evening. They ride in silence, the sound of the road hissing below them and the engine’s hum their only soundtrack. The prison was in the middle of nowhere really, a long empty road lies ahead lit with moonlight shining so bright through the fog it looks like it’s twilight. Dean is glad for the emptiness, but not so much the light. He wants to be invisible, to disappear entirely.

“I know I’m not like you and Sam. I understand that.” Dean looks over to Castiel quickly but Cas seems to be looking at something far off in the distance. “I don’t want you to worry about me.” He thinks for a moment and then adds quietly, “If I were ever to burden you…”

And Dean laughs. He has to. “Cas, you will never be a burden to me,” he says and then more solemnly, “Never. Got it?”

And Castiel nods to himself and yawns, then shifts to his side, facing him, resting his head on the back of the seat. Dean listens to Cas’ unsteady breathing as Castiel goes in and out of consciousness, looks over to see Castiel’s features softening in sleep and wonders, as he pulls Cas’ sagging trenchcoat up over his shoulder, how the hell he ended up in a car with a sleeping angel, looking back to the road ahead, how he ended up here at all. He pushes the mix tape back in and turns it down low and is happily surprised to hear “Stairway to Heaven” come on instead. As the mournful guitar riff quietly surrounds him and Plant’s voice softly filters through his thoughts, Dean is filled with an indescribable feeling, not quite hope, but as they speed farther away he hears the one beside him shift and sigh deeply, safe in sleep, and it’s pretty damn close.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I am [on tumblr!](https://cassandraleeds.tumblr.com/) Come say hi! :D


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